


Team and Family

by nagi_schwarz



Series: The Oppenheimer Effect [29]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, Crossover, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6999940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Multiverse, Any, Karaoke night."</p><p>Celebration, Casa Atlantica style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Team and Family

“We have done much this spring break,” Cam said. He was slumped back in his wheelchair, sweaty and exhausted. 

“Hear, hear!” JD hoisted his bottle of soda high. 

Tyler knew they all drank beer, but for some reason they made a point of never drinking alcohol around him. Not that JD was old enough to drink alcohol yet either.

“John and Rodney celebrated their one-year anniversary,” Cam said.

John and Rodney, exhausted from moving John’s giant bed into the basement bedroom, saluted Cam with their soda bottles. Oppie was stretched along the back of the sofa, napping.

“We finally cleaned the freakin’ basement,” Cam continued.

Evan threw his head back and let back an exultant yell. “Finally! I’ve been telling you guys to do it for years. Apparently all it took was a kid. Next time I’ll try a kid sooner.” He wagged his bottle at Cam, then took a deep pull of soda. And promptly choked when the fizz went up his nose.

JD slapped his back. 

“And Tyler has his own room.” Cam hoisted his bottle high.

Tyler grinned. Cam and the others had started coming to his team meetings, and Tyler had had overnight visits at the house once they all cleared background checks. He’d been super nervous the first time his lawyer - Cassandra, a deceptively pleasant-faced woman who was knife-sharp and dangerous when other lawyers least expected it - met them, but Cam had smiled and worked his Southern charm, and after she’d interrogated him and John and Evan and JD and even Rodney pretty thoroughly, she’d smiled and said she was happy for Tyler, and that was that. The first time all of them had come to court to see Judge Whitmer, Tyler was sure the man would know, would take one look at Cam and Evan and JD and just _know_ and cancel the whole thing. But Fiona didn’t know and Cassandra didn’t know and everything would be okay. Judge Whitmer quizzed Cam about his child-rearing capabilities, and when Cam explained he’d been an Air Force major and commanded a squadron of fighter pilots, the judge had looked impressed. Cam explained he was a high school teacher now, and that seemed to have sealed the deal. Now they just had to wait six months for the adoption to go through.

Tyler had spent all week helping them clean and rearrange and move his stuff out of his foster parents’ house, and now...now he was moving in. He didn’t have a lot. Most of his worldly possessions fit in a single garbage bag. (Cam had given him an old military issue duffel bag with _Mitchell C_ stenciled on the side of it to carry his things instead.) But now it was official. He was moved in. He was going to have an official family. Cam was going to adopt him. All of them were, even if it was just Cam in name only. Tyler had thought the whole Cam-JD-Evan thing would be weird, but it wasn’t. All of the guys were a lot more casual and friendly than they were at school, but other than that things weren’t much different. Sometimes JD sat on Cam’s lap during movies (and the one time Tyler had walked into the den and caught them making out on Cam’s wheelchair had been kinda awkward), or Evan and JD sat super close together and Evan petted JD’s hair, but other than that it was normal. And that was okay.

“This calls,” John said, “for a celebration.” He glanced at Rodney, and something unspoken passed between them.

Rodney squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, but then he sat upright. All of them were sprawled across the furniture in the den, where they’d sunk down after the last piece of furniture was in place. Evan had brought them all sodas and sat down with them, and none of them felt ready to move.

“Okay,” Rodney said. “Shower up, and let’s celebrate.” He heaved himself to his feet, pulled John with him. They had their own bathroom downstairs.

“Celebrate how?” Tyler asked.

“The only real way to celebrate,” Cam said. “Karaoke.”

Tyler’s eyes went wide. He was expected to sing? No one in his bio family sang. They were all terrible singers. Sure, Tyler liked to listen to music, but -   


“Don’t worry,” Evan said. He ruffled Tyler’s hair. “You don’t have to be a good singer. You just have to be willing to sing along.”   


“He only says that because he’s a terrible singer,” Cam said.

Evan rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Timberlake. You’re in the shower first. Tyler, you’re next. Then JD. I’m last.”

Evan did that a lot, scheduled and arranged everything. He’d had Tyler on the chore chart rotation from his very first weekend visit. Cam said it was because Evan had been second-in-command of his ‘team’ before he’d left the military, and he was still in the habit of organizing everything to make sure it got done. Tyler thought people in the military were in squadrons or battalions or platoons, not teams. He wondered if maybe they just dumbed down military terms for him.

“If Cam’s first, that means I don’t have to move from this spot,” Tyler said, eyeing Evan, testing him.

“Not true,” Evan said. “Go pick out your clean clothes and grab your towel so you’re ready as soon as Cam gets out of the shower.”   


Tyler groaned, but he forced himself to stand up and go into his room. For now he had a bed, a desk with his backpack and school stuff on it (he’d been given breaks from the cleaning and move-in process to work on his homework), and a dresser that was mostly kinda empty and a closet full of his clothes (Evan promised they’d go buy more once Tyler’s money from the state came in). He had a picture of his half-sister (she’d been sent back to her dad right after Tyler had been taken into foster care when he was twelve) and a picture of Cam in his fancy blue Air Force uniform wearing some kind of shiny medal with the world _Valor_  on it. (Evan had also promised him they could mount and hang some of his artwork, or go to some shops downtown and see if there were any pictures or posters he wanted. Evan, Tyler was thinking, was the woman in the house. He was the best cook and he decorated everything. But he’d never actually _say_  that to Evan.)

He found some clean clothes (Evan had strict rules about two laundry hampers, one for whites, one for colors) and sprawled out on his bed and listened to the shower running through the wall. For a guy in a wheelchair, Cam got stuff done quickly.

(“You learn to shower fast. Showers were a prime commodity in A-stan. Sand got everywhere. If you wanted the sand out of unmentionable places, you got in and got it done fast, or the other guys would throw you a blanket party after lights out.”)

The shower shut off, and Tyler sat up. He waited till he heard Cam rolling down the hallway, then went into the steam-filled bathroom. The hot water felt so, so good on his sore muscles, but he knew better than to malinger in the shower when he was in the middle of the shower rotation. He hadn’t realized what it really meant, to be moving into a house full of former soldiers, but everything ran strictly on time, and a minor disruption in schedule made them all twitchy. It was common practice to throw a glass of cold water on anyone caught lingering in the shower too long (the first time it happened to Tyler was horrible; the first time it happened to Rodney was hilarious and they’d heard his scream all the way upstairs).

Everyone also went running every morning (including Rodney, who grumbled all the way, but Tyler could keep pace with him, so he didn’t feel lame, running alone at the back of the pack while Cam sped ahead and JD and John kept egging each other on like a pair of, well, teenagers). Tyler’s inclusion in the breakfast rotation this week had been terrifying, but given how bad a cook Rodney was (everyone was a bad cook compared to Evan, even Cam, who could make some pretty tasty stuff), no one had judged Tyler’s burnt eggs or soggy toast, just wolfed it down and got to work (Tyler suspected that was old military habit, too - eat anything to stay alive).

Still, if Tyler ran with them every morning and lifted weights with them on the regular (Cam had a mini-gym set up in the garage to do PT exercises at home) he’d get pretty fit, maybe even bulk up a bit, stop getting picked last in PE.

“This is your thirty-second cold-water warning,” JD said.

Crap. Tyler had spaced out again. He slapped off the water and grabbed his towel. “I’m almost done, I swear.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Tyler wondered how it was JD had so many old soldier habits. Was it being raised by his fancy general uncle, or just living with the guys for so long? (Sometimes when JD said something, the others would say _Yes, sir_ , which was a total joke, because JD was barely older than Tyler - which was still a little weird, weirder than when JD had first been his teacher - but for some reason all of the others sounded totally serious, and it didn’t make sense.)

Tyler dressed and combed his hair, then skedaddled into the den where Cam, John, and Rodney were on the couch and crowded around an old binder.

“I continue to be impressed,” Cam said, “that you know this many songs.”

“Tell him, John,” Rodney said.

“I’ve told him before,” John said, but he rolled his eyes and complied. “Your average pop song is all of four chords. Once you know the key, playing the song is easy.”

“What’s going on?” Tyler asked.

Cam beckoned him over. “You have to pick your song. The one you’re going to sing.”

Tyler squeezed onto the couch beside Cam and peered at the binder. There was an index of songs in the front - alphabetical by title - and then...pages and pages and pages of lyrics. At the top of each page, just below the lyrics, were roman numerals, _I-V-vi-IV_  or _vi-IV-I-V_.

“Don’t you have a karaoke machine?” Tyler asked.

Rodney cast him a look. He looked at people like that a lot, like they were stupid. It had taken Tyler a hot moment to figure out he didn’t mean it in a mean way. He just always noticed when people were being stupid.

“Nope,” John said. “We’re doing karaoke the old-fashioned way.” He nodded to the piano they’d crammed into the corner of the den. While Rodney insisted he could afford a grand piano, all they had room for was an old upright. John’s guitar was beside it.

John had mentioned he could play the guitar and that Rodney played the piano, but Tyler hadn’t thought either of them were good at it. He thought they meant it in the way adults often did, something they’d done when they were kids and had given up.

JD ambled into the kitchen and finished fixing up the tray of drinks and snacks Evan had been preparing before it was his turn to shower. That was another thing that kind of amazed Tyler, the way all of the guys in the house worked together. One of them started something, and another one of them could step up and finish it without a word, barely a question. They were a _team_. He’d seen that in his foster parents, too, usually when they were working. Victor would hold out a hand, Nicole would hand him a tool, and no words were necessary. Tyler felt like he was the loud one in the house, always asking questions.

JD carried the tray - glasses of ice water for everyone and some baked treats - into the den and laid it on the coffee table (after glaring John and Tyler into moving their feet off the table).

“I’m going first,” he said.

Cam groaned. “You just want all of us to look bad.”

“Damn right I do.” JD grinned and leaned over, kissed Cam softly on the mouth, then tore into one of the pastries.

No wonder the guys went running every morning. With the way Evan baked, it was a miracle none of them were fat.

“And you plan on singing?” Rodney asked.

JD reached out, tapped the index page. “This one.”

“That’s a duet,” Rodney said. “And you know none of us will try to sing it with you.”

“I can sing it solo, I promise.”

Rodney shrugged, but he was radiating skepticism. “Okay.”

“If Andrea can do it, I can do it.”

“You’re not Andrea,” Rodney pointed out.

But JD just sprawled out on the recliner next to Cam and munched on a pastry.

Evan arrived, tugging on a shirt. “All right! Have you all picked your songs?”

“You and Tyler still need to pick,” Cam said.

“That Scott McKenzie song,” Evan said immediately.

Tyler had never heard of that artist. It was probably oldies.

“Sometimes you are such a cliche,” Cam said, but he reached out and snagged Evan’s wrist, tugged him in for a kiss.

“Says the guy who always sings a Kansas song.” Evan smiled against Cam’s lips and then sat down on the other side of JD.

“Kansas is classic,” Cam protested. “Also, I’m from Kansas. It’s only fitting.”

“What about you, Tyler?” John asked.

“Um...Don’t Stop Believing. By Journey,” Tyler said. Tina and Sasha liked it a lot, and so he listened to it, knew the words okay.

John and Rodney exchanged looks. Tyler wondered if the other three ever felt left out, but then John was going to pick up his guitar and Rodney went to sit at the piano, and JD stood up, stretched.

“Journey for Tyler it is,” Rodney said. “JD, you’re up.”

And Rodney began to play. JD didn’t even need the lyrics. The name of the song sounded foreign. Tyler squinted at the song index. It wasn’t on there.

The song started quietly enough, but it built all the way to the chorus. It was in - Italian, maybe? When JD hit the first notes of the chorus, Tyler sat back, surprised. He knew JD liked to listen to opera (everyone else in the house hated it, even Rodney, who generally liked classical music), but Tyler hadn’t thought JD could sing it. Didn’t that require lessons and stuff? But Rodney played along, and on the chorus John joined in, strumming soft chords.

Cam and Evan were watching JD, holding hands and staring at him and smiling. They looked...proud of how good he sounded. Tyler didn’t care much for opera, but he knew being able to sing like that was pretty impressive. When the final chorus built, Tyler felt his heart speed up, but he didn’t know why. And when JD hit that final massive note, Tyler couldn’t breathe.

The song ended, and JD took a bow. Evan launched himself out of his chair and grabbed JD, yanked him into a fierce kiss that had Cam whistling and cheering.

John doubled over his guitar, laughing.

“Please,” Rodney said, “not in front of the children.”   


Tyler was blushing, he knew it.

Evan pulled back. “Sorry. Just, it gets me every time. I -”

“That’s totally why he does it,” John said. He pushed JD toward the couch. “Go, sit. Evan, you’re up!”

“That was really cool,” Tyler said quietly to JD.

JD smiled. “Thanks. I really enjoy opera.”   


“Does it always make you feel like -”

“Like you’re flying? Yeah.”

Evan sang - gamely, but really pretty badly - a song about going to San Francisco and wearing yellow flowers in your hair. The others razzed him about being a hippie and a cliche. More than once, the others had talked about how Evan had grown up on a hippie commune, but Tyler had always thought it was a joke. Evan was a soldier. Hippies hated soldiers, called them baby-killers and stuff. He’d learned about it in history class. 

When the song was over, though, everyone applauded and cheered, and JD and Cam kissed Evan.

John strummed his guitar, and the riff was immediately recognizable. His favorite artist was Johnny Cash (he had a Johnny Cash poster behind his desk at school), and he played Johnny Cash songs all the time. All of them knew the words to A Boy Named Sue, and Tyler swayed along to the song as they sang.

After John took his bows, Rodney abandoned the piano, turned on the piano bench and leaned against John. John began picking a melancholy riff on his guitar, and Tyler felt his pulse begin to calm. He didn’t recognize the riff, but he knew this was going to be a sad song.

“Why do we even bother with the cheat book?” Evan asked. “No one sings out of it.”

When Rodney began to sing, it wasn’t in English either. It was French. Of course he spoke French. He was Canadian. 

Tyler saw Cam reach out, curl his hand through JD’s and squeeze.

Whatever the song was, it made all of them look solemn. Rodney’s voice was clear and steady, not nearly as powerful as JD’s, but pleasant all the same. Tyler knew enough Spanish to catch some words here and there, like _eglise_  was probably a church. Somehow he didn’t think this song was about God, though. JD picked up a harmony on the final chorus, and halfway through Rodney had to stop, so JD carried on, and then Rodney picked up the final line.

“That was really pretty,” Tyler said quietly.

Rodney smiled. “Thanks.”

John kissed him on the cheek. Before the moment could turn too awkward, Cam transferred himself to his wheelchair, wheeled himself over so he was beside John and Rodney.

“Now,” Cam said, “I think we need to sing this next one together.”

And he began to sing, “ _Carry on my wayward son_.” He had a surprisingly sweet voice. No wonder JD called him ‘Timberlake’. But JD joined in on harmony. Evan picked up the beat, drumming on an old tissue box of all things, and John totally rocked the guitar solo. Evan and Tyler had to flip to the lyrics quickly, and they managed to find the right place in time to join in on the chorus. Rodney on the piano, though, was incredible.

This, Tyler realized, was _fun_. Sure, he had good times working on cars with Cam or playing video games with JD, but there was something magical about all of them doing this thing _together_.

When the song ended, they all burst into cheers, and Tyler joined in.

Cam reached out and ruffled his hair, and he said, “Welcome home, wayward son.”

Oh damn. Tyler was not going to cry. No, he was not. John must have spotted him trying to wipe his eyes, so he said,

“And now, for the last number of the night, Casa Atlantica presents Tyler Guerrera Mitchell singing Don’t Stop Believing.”

Evan and Cam and JD applauded, and Rodney tugged Tyler to his feet, handed him the binder of lyrics.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Um, not really?” Evan was a better singer than Tyler was.

“Don’t worry,” John said, “everyone will help you.”

Rodney started playing the opening chords, and Tyler cleared his throat. He got two lines in before Cam and Evan joined in, and then John and JD were singing along as well, and Tyler grinned, raised his voice. They were a team.

They were a family.

**Author's Note:**

> Song credits:
> 
> Con Te Partiro - Andrea Bocelli  
> Going to San Francisco - Scott MacKenzie  
> A Boy Named Sue - Johnny Cash  
> C'Etait L'hiver - Francis Cabrel  
> Carry On Wayward Son - Kansas  
> Don't Stop Believin' - Journey


End file.
